


The American Dream

by The_Whip_Hand_81



Category: Lance Tucker - Fandom, Sebastian Stan - Fandom
Genre: Blaine from Hot Tub Time Machine, Blaine the Bully, Business meets pleasure, Celebrity Status, Curvy girls rule, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fat Shaming, High School Angst, High School Flashbacks, Lance Beginning Olympic Career, Lance the Bully, Masturbation, Mentions of Hope Ann Gregory, Mirror Sex, Multi Chapter, Positive self image, Public Relations, Reader Insert, Reader reinvents herself, Sex Tape, Sexual Tension, insecure reader, lance tucker - Freeform, self love, smut to come, vulgarity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:37:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8391055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Whip_Hand_81/pseuds/The_Whip_Hand_81
Summary: You are the best Damage Control Agent for Hollywood's Elite and you've just promised a friend you'd help her up and coming star athlete with his run in with the law. Little do you know this star athlete could be the same person who bullied you back in high school.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Got the idea from a Blaine ("Hot Tub Time Machine") dream this morning.
> 
> Here's the pic I put together for it :)
> 
> https://flic.kr/p/N9EFd7

After a successful string of jobs assisting several major celebrities with their public relations problems and crises, you decide to take it down a notch, pulling back from the spotlight of Hollywood and take a stab at representing some up-and-coming clients that might need your expertise in becoming a better role model for everyone while in the public eye. Your job is damage control when it comes to celebrities and their partying and scheming ways. A celebrity gets caught with the pants down in a park fountain: you're there to confront the press and convince them your client was having a hallucination due to "allergy medication". A famous person gets drunk and vomits on the Queen of England? You easily convince world news that your client has a terrible case of vertigo and can't keep the room from spinning due to her "chronic inner ear problem". A young socialite runs through a red light...and an old lady on Rodeo Drive? Piece of cake. You immediately release a statement that she was in a rush to the bedside of her ailing Grandma Nonna before she dies. You are Hollywood's best image fixer (the public has you to thank for putting Paris Hilton's fame to rest) but it was all too much glitz and glamour for you. So, you just step to the sidelines for a bit and wait for a client who is a bit more low-key and easier to fix. 

**

You are laying on your couch in your downtown LA apartment doing a crossword puzzle on your IPad when your phone rings on the coffee table in front of you. You slowly sit up, reaching for it, you see the screen - it's one of your business friends - the ones who only call you when they are in dire need of help. 

"Hey, Charlene, what's up?" you sigh into the phone. 

Your friend is panicking, frantic on the other end, "I need your help..a very good friend of mine just got into some shit with the cops this morning and I need your PR mouth to help him out of it before it hits the news and causes damage to his promising career!" 

"Hold on, slow down, Charle. What happened?" you sit on the edge of the couch. 

She takes a deep breath, "My close friend is being hailed as the next Michael Phelps of men's gymnastics and will be participating in the upcoming Olympics, if he plays his cards right. But he got into a HUGE traffic violation with the cops this morning and he needs your help before it gets blown way out of proportion." 

You mindlessly skim through various apps on your tablet as she talks and notice she's not being completely honest, "Riiiiight....this 'very good and close friend' of yours..you slept with him, didn't you?"

A beat of silence, "....yes."

You nod with a smirk, "And this 'traffic violation' of his?"

Another pause, ".....getting a blowjob from a prostitute on the side of the road..." 

"There ya go...now was that so difficult to say, Charle?" you giggle as you look at the calender on your tablet to see if you have any open days available to meet with this rising athlete, you stick the bluetooth in your ear to continue talking hands free. 

"Well? Can you help him? I've told him about you and he would really appreciate all the help he can get. I mean, he's a little hard-headed and obnoxious but who isn't these days? And, he can be a little difficult to handle but he's pretty easy on the eyes....what do ya say?" 

A chuckle rises from your chest, "Oh, you..I can never say no to my best gal....sure, why not...I'm not doing anything lately any way. What's this rising star's name?" you stand up with tablet in hand as you walk towards the kitchen, getting ready to Google the name. 

"Lance Tucker." 

You type in his name in the Google search engine, a slew of photos pop up across your tablet screen. Fear flashes in your eyes when you instantly recognize this man's face and instinctively drop the IPad onto the floor with a gasp. Your face twisted in confusion and terror. 

"[Y/N]? [Y/N], what happened?" Charlene asks, concerned about your sudden gasp. 

You kneel down and pick the IPad up, standing up straight and mutter to yourself out loud, "Maybe this isn't the same person..." 

"What? Who isn't the same person?" Charlene asks impatiently. 

Your eyes focus on one particular photo of this Lance person, "Uuum, are you sure his name is Lance?" 

Charlene scoffs, "I've slept with this guy enough times to know his name is Lance....why are you asking me this? Are you okay, [Y/N]?" 

You stutter as you swipe through the photos of Lance, "I, uh, yeah. He just...Lance just looks a lot like this bully I went to high school with...."

"And was the bully's name Lance?" your friend questions you with a more irritated tone. 

"No.....his name was Blaine...Blaine Tucker....they look a lot alike...." your heart races remembering Blaine's terrible pranks he'd pull on you back in high school. 

"Well, maybe they're related - look, are you gonna help me or not? This is time-sensitive stuff. This incident can ruin his career!" Charlene sounds extremely upset. 

You take a deep breath as you place the tablet on the kitchen island where you stood, close your eyes and let out a slow sigh of indecisiveness, "Okay. Okay, I will help you." 

"THANK YOU! If you can stop by the gym near Vine tonight at 6ish - that would be terrific! The gym will be closed off to the public and we can use their board room as a strategy room. Thank you so much, [Y/N]! I'll tell him right away! See you later!" Charlene hangs up before you can say anything else. 

You hop up onto a kitchen stool in front of the island and look down at a picture of Lance Tucker on your IPad. He looks almost exactly like Blaine who terrorized you in school. You daze off into the distance recalling just a few of the bad memories you had involving Blaine Tucker. 

Ah, Blaine Tucker, the bane of your existance! Tall, slender spoiled rich kid whose parents were both lawyers. His bratty blue eyes and dimpled chin made all the girls in school swoon - well, the ones he didn't tease mercilessly. With his turtlenecks and shirt collars arrogantly popped up around his slightly square jawline paired with his obsession of denim Lee jeans and Jordan Sneakers, Blaine was a piece of work. A piece of shit work, that is. All those years of torment and shame he put you through just because. Like that time your freshman year when you got braces AND glasses at the same time. Blaine made up a variety of what he thought were clever nicknames that stuck with you throughout your high school career: "Metal Mouth", "Four Eyes" "Brace Face", "Wide Load" and "Tons of Fun" (referring to your baby fat, of course). And that time your sophmore year when he pelted you with raw eggs during your performance of "It's a Hard Knock Life" in "Annie". Or the time he pulled your pants down during gym class, revealing your Care Bears underwear. And who could forget the time he tripped you on stage in front of hundreds during your high school graduation ceremony. These memories and many more are whirling through your brain as you try to shake the notion that this Lance guy can't be the same person as Blaine. 

"Two different first names, Tucker is a common surname. And scientists say there are 7 people in the world that look exactly like you...maybe this is one of Blaine's dopplegangers?" you convince yourself as you walk to the shower to prepare your mind for tonight. 

***

You enter the now empty gym on Vine in Hollywood. With briefcase in hand, dressed in a professional sleek black pants suit, your heels clack across the parquet floors toward the back where the board room is located. Walking confidently towards the back, your eyes glance here and there to see various gymnist equipment: pummel horse, bars, landing pads, rings hanging from the ceiling. You come to a stop at the door, your nose mere inches from touching it as you hear Charlene and what you gather is Lance Tucker on the other side. 

"....she's great with getting famous people out of sticky situations ---"

" --you don't think I'm famous enough, Charlene? Oh, I'm famous. I am the God of Gymnastics. People will know my name by the end of this month. I am the best there is, the best there'll ever be!"

You shudder at the sound of his voice, 'He sounds just like Blaine....' you think to yourself afraid to knock on the door. You're confident, you're cool but, you're also hesitant. You want to listen more to their conversation when a tickle in your nose starts at the bridge of your nose. 

You have to sneeze. 

'No! Not now!' you scream in your head as you try to hold your breath, being as still as possible listening to their banter. 

"Lance, listen, she's very convincing to the public and media. You could kill a man and she'd possibly get you off a murder charge just by her winning smile!" Charlene jokes. 

"So you say....." Lance mutters, then finishes, "Is she hot?" 

Just then your sneeze rips through the gym, the sudden impact of your sneeze slams your forehead into the door inches from your nose, causing a loud BOOM against it. You quickly cover your forehead  with your hand to soothe it when the door swings open, making your eyes bulge unexpectedly. 

Charlene is standing on the other side with a forced smile, "Hiiiii, [Y/N]...we were just talking about you.. come in and meet Lance." 

You shake off your embarrassing moment and stride confidently into the board room, placing your briefcase down onto a long wooden table without making eye contact with your new client. "Good evening, Mr. Tucker. My name is [Y/F/L/N] and I will be your new public relations correspondant..any questions?" you open up your briefcase and pull out several forms. 

A long pause before Lance asks, "Metal Mouth?"


	2. The Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance explains the confusion about his name and you find out just how hard it's going to be representing future Olympian Lance Tucker.

Your eyes slowly rise to look him in the face for the first time. Your eyes focus on those disobedient blue eyes you remember all too well. Your once confident voice is reduced to a small child's, "....Blaine?"

Thunderous laughter erupts from the deepest part of his throat, scaring you and Charlene. 

He shakes his head with a broad grin, "Not anymore, I'm not."

Charlene's brows meet at the middle of her face, "Wait...I'm confused..." she turns to Lance, "your name's Blaine?"  

Lance walks around the long table to where you are standing with the confidentiality forms in your hands as he begins to explain to the both of you, "Yes and no. I was born Blaine Lance Tucker but once I began my decent into men's gymnastics shortly after high school graduation, I dropped my first name and began going by my middle name instead."

"So, that's why your friends called you 'BLT' in high school..." you put the pieces together out loud. 

"Yeah. But Lance just sounds more....American, don't you think? I should know, I'm an American patriot..." he takes the forms from your hands and places them on the table in frotn of him, "America's newest Boy-Next-Door. The people are gonna want their daughters to date someone like me: clean shaven, well educated, healthy," Lance grabs a pen on the table and is about to sign at the dotted line to agree your representing him during his scandalous moment and continues, "...bleeds red, white and blue with prestine public morals--" 

You snatch the forms out from under his pen before he can sign and he shoots straight up with anger, "What the fuck, 'Tons of Fun'?! I was about to sign that!" 

You immediately place it back into your briefcase and slam the case closed, "Number one: Your so-called 'prestine public morals' went out the window when you were caught on the side of a major road with your dick in a hooker's mouth in BROAD DAYLIGHT near a school! And number two: I'm not fat, I'm curvy, you insensitive motherfucking elitist asshole." 

Lance steps up to you, enraged, "What the fuck did you just call me, Wide Load?!" 

Charlene squeezes her way between you and Lance, pushing him back with an apologetic smile towards you, "Okay, okay. I see we got off on the wrong foot here. Um..Lance? Can I talk to you in the other room....please?" 

Lance's squinted eyes shoot death lazers in your direction. You try to keep the stiff posture of a badass bitch as Charlene pushes him out the board room door, closing it behind them, leaving you alone (and fuming). You can only hear a few muffled sentences your friend is telling Blaine - er, Lance -  and you can tell he is not happy at all. 

He hollers, "GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE! I will NOT apologize to that loser! Why should I?! She's the one that insulted me!" 

You seem to hear only every few words Charlene is muttering to him in a low voice but you get the gist, ".....if you do....." *incoherent  words* "....suck your........*more incoherent sounds* "......let you do that......*low words*".....in my ass...." 

Your eyes bulge in surprise as you surmise what Charlene was promising this arrogant asshole and hear Lance's exaggerated sigh, "FINE!" then footsteps walking toward the door. 

You straighten your body up again in full confidence mode when Lance swings the door open behind you and relents in the worst half-hearted apology you have ever received in your life, "I'm sorry I called you fat, can I sign the papers now?" he holds his hand out in front of you, head tilted like a disrespectful teenager. 

You don't hide your face of disgust when you fold your arms over your chest, "Blaine --"

Lance yells like a child having a tantrum, "Don't call me that! That's not my name anymore!" 

You refrain from laughing, raising your hands in defense, "Whoops, sorry. Lance, once you sign these papers, you are giving me permission to let me into your private life and goings-on during crucial times like these when the paparazzi would have a field day on your little incident on the side of the road. And by letting me into your life, unfortunately, that means you have to tell me details about yourself and the truth behind the misdeeds you've done. Now, hopefully, this will be the last reputation-ruining incident that will occur for a long time. Are you willing to let me in?" you search his eyes for an answer. 

He is leaning against the long table, arms crossed over his muscular chest, face, bored, rolling his eyes, "Fine. I have nothing to hide..."

You open your briefcase, retrieving the forms again and present them to him with flat affect, "Then sign at the dotted lines, Mr Tucker."

Lance swipes the papers from your grip, bends over the table to sign each form and is about to hand them back to you but flings the papers back into your briefcase instead with a smug smirk, stepping up to you and looking down at your face, "You better be the best damn PR agent out there. If I hear one news outlet say something slanderous about my name, I'm suing your ass for misrepresentation..." Lance walks out of the room. 

Charlene hugs you tightly, "Thank you so much for your understanding and patience. I promise I'll try to make him be nicer to you --" 

Just then Lance calls out from the next room with irritation in his voice, "Let's go, Charlene! My balls are not going to suck themselves!" 

She jumps, nervously, flashing an awkward smile, "Oh, gotta go! See you soon!" She runs out of the room. 

You shake your head slowly in disbelief at the situation you're in. No one would ever believe you are being bullied by the same person from high school..again....

"No...." you say to yourself, closing your briefcase, "not again...not this time..." you reassure yourself that you will NOT play the victim again. You pull the case off the table as you exit the board room and start making your way out of the gym. You can hear Lance moaning from the across the gym in the other office. 

"Suck harder...NOT THAT HARD! SHIT! Forget it! I'll call one of the girls to finish me off..." he yells as you shake your head once again and leave the building. 

****

It's been a week since you saved Lance Tucker's ass from media suicide. You've managed to keep his name out of the spotlight by telling the press he isn't popular enough for people to give a damn. Just another case of a spoiled rich guy who didn't know what he was doing. So it never made headlines - not even a blip on the media radar. 

It's Saturday night and you're back from your nightly run. After jumping in the shower and wrapping yourself in your short fuzzy white house robe, you tie your wet hair in a towel and begin preparing tonight's dinner. You pour yourself a glass of merlot as you turn on the news for background noise while you chop vegetables in the kitchen a few feet away. After listening to a news reel about kittens being saved from a sewer pipe, you hear a familiar subject. 

"And coming up later, local Olympian favorite, Lance Tucker, is captured on a party-goers camera phone accosting a group of male patrons at a popular nightclub downtown this evening...more on that story next." 

"WHAT?!" you spin around on your heels and run to the TV. You plop down on the couch when the news returns with a photo of an irrate Lance on the top of the screen by the newscaster's head. You listen intently to the reporter when your phone rings in front of you on the coffee table. You see it's Charlene. You pick it up, "What the fuck is happening, Charle?!" 

"Lance is drunk and unreasonable, [Y/N]! I tried to get him to calm down but he stormed out of the club. Cops want him for questioning....I think he's heading over to you.."

"Wait - what?" 

Just then, your door buzzer rings, startling you. You hear your name being shouted six floors below on the night street, then your horrible nicknames, "YO, BRACE FACE! LET ME UP! BRAAAAAAACE FAAAAAAAACE!" 

You run to the window and yell down, "Shut up! I'm gonna buzz you in!" 

After buzzing him in (and him, taking an unbelievably long time to get up the stairs), you open the door to let him in. Lance is still dressed in his blue windbreaker gym suit and white t-shirt. His once perfectly gelled up hair is ruffled and a stupid drunken smile on his face greets you as he pushes passed you into your apartment. 

"Whoooooa, you live here?" he slurs his words as his eyes study your modest livingroom and walk in kitchen. 

"Yeah..." you answer, uneasy that this man is actually in your house. 

"How do you survive in such a shitty apartment?" he chuckles and walks off into your kitchen, you on his heels. 

Lance opens your fridge door and ducks his head inside, "Shit...where do you keep the booze?" 

"I don't think you should be drinking anymore, Lance." 

He stands up again and turns to look at you standing in the living room. A goofy grin over his lips, "Okay, MOM. I promise I won't have another drink...." That's when he notices your short white fuzzy robe and bare legs. His goofy grin turns to a lustful one as he approaches, standing before you with his hands at his sides. You take a small step back for personal space. 

You can smell the alcohol on his hot breath as he talks with a smooth tone, "Dayum, Metal Mouth...you look sexy as fuck right now...." he bites his lower lip, "you naked under there?" his eyes flit to your chest. 

Your erratic breathing makes your stammer, "N-no. Back up, please. You're too close..." 

"Bullshit. You're naked, aren't you?" Lance takes a step closer like a cat backing a mouse into a corner. 

"I'm not going to tell you again, Tucker. Back up.." you warn. 

It only eggs him on more, "The least you can do is show me a nipple..." he steps closer. 

"Back the fuck up, BLAINE!" you shout thinking that'll snap him out of it. It only makes him laugh.

"You can call me any name you want, sugar tits. So long as I get to rest my dick on your ass before ramming it into your --" another step closer and you sucker punch him in the throat, silencing his perverted mouth and eliciting choking coughs. You shove him back so hard that he falls back onto his butt and you walk away, leaving him a gasping mess on the floor. 

After a few moments of Lance getting his voice back, he stands up and leans against the living room wall, "You fucking crazy bitch!" 

You nonchalantly pull a small keychain of mace from your purse and point it at him with a bored expression, "You come that close to me again, I'm spraying your All American eyes until they melt out of their sockets. Got it?" 

Lance straightens himself and walks toward you with caution, "Yeah, I got it...but you work for me now...." 

You let out a nervous laugh, "You're so drunk, Lance. Get the fuck out. We'll talk about your latest jackassery when you've sobered up..." you lower the mace and point to the door. 

"All right.....but you better believe me when I say you work for me. And shit ain't gonna be easy for you starting now...I'm gonna make your life a living Hell all over again, Four Eyes," he foreshadows as he walks backward to the door. 

"Oh, my God, I don't even wear glasses anymore! You're so freaking immature. And I've survived your pranks before, Tucker. I'm a survivor, asshole!" 

Lance opens the door and turns around to face you one last time, "You thought Paris Hilton gave you a hard time?....just you wait and see what I've got in store for you, sweets. Not only am I going to make your job difficult, but you're gonna be sucking my balls in no time. I'm gonna cum all over your face and you're gonna love it..." 

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" you throw the keychain of mace at Lance as he slams it shut, laughing on the other side, running down the stairs. 

You run to lock your door and kick it for good measure as if it were the door's fault Lance got in. Then, you stop and realize wetness rolling down your inner thigh. 

"FUCK!" you kick the door again. 

***


	3. B&B (Breakfast&Barf)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlene needs you to cover for her and take care of Lance while she's away. After you have a flashback of Blaine from High school, you decide to exact revenge in the simplest way.

::1989::  
~Senior Year~

In the girls' locker room, you pull over your stretched out hot pink sweater over your body, covering your light purple spandex leggings. You pick up your fuschia Jansport backpack before walking over to the body mirror by the sinks. You see the body staring back at you and cringe. 

"Frumpy," you moan outloud with a face of disgust. 

You best friend, Cat, walks behind you and scoffs, "Oh, shut up! You are, like, the prettiest girl in this locker room, [Y/N]." 

You frown as you look at your chunky thighs and muffin top tummy, "Um, no, I'm not. She is and you know it." 

You point behind you at the other end of the lockers to a petite blond waif by the name of Olivia Jefferson - head cheerleader and president of the All Girls' Sports League in school. Every guy wants to sleep with her and all girls want to be her. You REALLY want to be her. If you could get just one guy to pay attention to you the way they pay attention to her, you'd be so happy. 

"Ugh, gross," Cat snarls as she lifts her packback over her shoulder, "she's probably riddled with STDs. You don't want to be like her....she has no personality." 

"ANY NAKED CHICKS IN HERE?!" a boy's voice echoes throughout the locker room out of sight. A few girls that are getting dressed squeal and run away to hide. You freeze in place as Cat warns, pulling you, "Let's go, [Y/N]! That's Blaine, if he sees us, he'll go ape shit! You know this is their make out time." 

You stand your ground, adjust your red frame glasses on your face, "No....I'm staying...leave me...."

"But, [Y/N]!"

"I said, go, Cat! I can take care of myself," your eyes narrow, ready for a fight with this bully who constantly picks on you every day. 

Blaine calls out again, "Ooooliiiviiiaaaa, where are yooooou?!" 

Olivia smiles and squeaks back, "I'm over here, cutie!" 

Blaine rounds the corner and, on reflex, you jump behind the row of lockers to hide. 'Maybe today won't be the day I confront him,' you sheepishly think to yourself as you peep around the corner to watch Blaine wrap his arms around his girlfriend's thin waist from behind. 

He buries his face in the crook of her neck in a bushel of crimped blond hair and moans, "Mmmm...you ready to suck my big hard cock, sugar tits?" 

You can't help but let a giggle escape your mouth before shutting your mouth with your own hand. 

"What the fuck was that?" Blaine asks as he looks around the room for any obvious presence of people. 

You squat down to quickly crawl backwards but snag your extra large pink sweater on the bottom locker, causing your body to slam into it loudly. You tug at the shoulder of your sweater with urgency, "...fuck, fuck, fuck..." you whisper as you pull.

Blaine jumps in front of you, startling you, "Well, well, well. If it isn't Four-Eyes the Wide Load. What the fuck are you doing here?" 

You finally free yourself from the locker's hinge and struggle to your feet, "I...uh...forgot my...water bottle!" you say even though it is clearly visible in the side pocket of your backpack.

"Were you spying on us, you pervert?" he accuses with wild eyes as Olivia walks up behind him, looking at you with dagger eyes. 

"No! I just came back to get my water bottle, I said." 

Blaine's eyes squint at your fearful face and he smirks, "I think my sister has that same water bottle. Can I see it?" 

Your brows press together in confusion at the sudden change of tone in his voice: polite and calm. 

"Sure..I guess.." you hand him your clear water bottle. 

Blaine holds it up to the light, inspecting it for a moment before unscrewing the top, "I was mistaken, this isn't my sister's..." closes his mouth and sucks in a long, deep, growling breath, loosening phlegm in his throat. 

Your mouth opens, "Oh....please don't...." is all you can say in a tiny voice as you watch him hock a phlegmy spitball into your water bottle, seals it and hands it over to you with a sweet smile. 

"There ya go...tastes better now. Get lost, freak." Blaine turns his back on you and begins making out with Olivia, slamming her small frame up against the locker with moans, dry humping into her. 

Contaminated water bottle in hand, you slowly walk out of the gym in disgust. You throw the bottle into the nearest garbage can as you hold in your tears when you realize you have got 3 more years with him.

**

~Present Day~

Charlene called you at 5:30 this morning on the verge of a coronary because she couldn't accompany Lance to the gym due to a family emergency. She normally has to get him his breakfast/snacks/lunch, run his errands and take his calls while he trained. She begged and pleaded with you until you sighed into the phone then screamed that she owed you big time. After you spent all of last night taking calls from several news media outlets to try and square things over with Lance's drunken nightclub incident (AFTER he tried to get into your robe), you are NOT in the mood to see him. Especially now that you realize Lance makes you absolutely horny as fuck and you haven't the slightest clue why. 

***

You arrive at the gym in your gym gear: white tank top, tight black sport capris and sneakers. It is 6:45am and you already had two cups of coffee to stay awake. In one hand, you have your breakfast and, in the other, Lance's breakfast (to which Charlene gave you precise instructions on what to get). You walk into the gym and see Lance training on the pommel horse. You stand and watch his graceful movements; the flexing of his arm muscles glistening and bulging with his constant movement. His white tank top is nearly soaked through with sweat making it almost transluscent, revealing the outlines of his pecks, nipples and defined abs. You get lost in the grunts and heavy breathing emitting from Lance's throat as you stare at his sinewy strong arms. A small moan escapes your mouth when a flash of Lance from last night pops into your head. 

"HELLOOOO! Hey! Fat ass! I'm talking to you!" Lance has finished his routine and you have no idea how long he's been done. 

Embarrassed, you shake it off and walk over to him, handing him his bag of specially demanded breakfast, "Here," you say unenthusiastically, "Four poached eggs, three slices of whole grain toast-unbuttered, two sliced grapefruits, one cup of organic coffee and a partridge in a pear tree..." you start to walk away. 

Lance removes the cup from the bag, takes a sip and spits it out, "I can't drink this cat piss, there's no sugar in this!" 

You spin around on your heels with a fake smile, "Then I guess you better put some sugar in it." 

Lance shakes his head, "That's not my job. That's a 'Charlene Job'." 

"That certainly is a Charlene job but," you pause to pretend to look around the gym, "...I don't see her anywhere soooo..." 

"Sooooo now you have to do it. You're her acting replacement," a twinkle in his eyes only infuriates you more. 

"Oh, fuck you. The kitchen is twenty feet away...do it yourself," you turn to leave when Lance calls out. 

"Need I remind you that you work for me now and what I say, goes."

You turn back to look at him and see his smug face. THAT face you just want to punch right in that pretty jaw of his. You briskly walk up to him and snatch the coffee cup from his hand and make your way to the kitchen in a huff. 

"That's more like it, sweets. I'll take two Sugar in the Raw packets with a smidgen of milk," he calls over your shoulder before he splays his breakfast out before him on a fold out table off the mats. 

Once inside the kitchen, you nearly rip the fridge door off its hinge for the milk. You pour a dot of milk in then pick up two packets of his requested sugars. While mixing the drink in your hands, an idea comes to you. Your face of fury turns to delight as you inhale deeply and suck up all the phlegm you have in your chest and throat, spitting out a big glob of mucus into his coffee. You giggle to yourself as you mix it well with the milk and sugar before re-entering the gym and handing it to him. 

Lance chews a piece of toast as he grabs the cup, "It's about freakin' time. I'm choking on cardboard here," he brings the cup to his lips as you watch with the happiest grin you've had in days. 

He takes a few big gulps of coffee and you start to giggle to yourself then quickly gag. Then giggle again, oh, no, now you're gagging again. Lance stops drinking, "What the fuck is so funny, [Y/N]?" 

You cover your mouth to keep frrom laughing and vomiting at the same time, "Nothing...."

He takes another sip, "It doesn't taste like you put Sugar in the Raw...tastes like refined sugar..."

"Yup, you're totally right. I accidentally put refined sugar in it...joke's on you..." you lie. 

"Well, whatever you did.....tastes a lot thicker than usual..."

"HUUURRGH!" your stomach betrayed you, you finally threw up. It was just too gross even for revenge. 

*****

Lance sent you home in disgust. He thought you might be sick and didn't want you to give him whatever you had. Little did he know, it was him drinking your snot spit that got you sick. 

You fall back onto your bed and kick off your sneakers, ready to make up for the sleep you missed last night and this morning when your phone rang. Luckily, you carried into the room with you and it's an arm-reach away on the bed. You grab it and answer. 

"Yes?" you exhale.

"[Y/N]? Oh my God, He's so stupid! He's such a fuckin' moron! I can't believe it...!" 

It's Charlene.

You sigh, exhausted at all this trouble you've brought onto yourself, "What happened now, Charle?"

Charlene begins to cry, "I---I don't know what to do! Shit...he's fucked!!" 

"Calm down, girl...tell me what happened?" 

"It's Lance....he....he...made a sex tape last month with that women's gymnastics girl, Hope Ann Gregory and somehow the tabloids got a hold of it!" 

You spring up in bed, eyes wide, now in full alert, "WHAT?!"

"Lance didn't tell Hope he was secretly filming them...having sex in his hotel room and now it's on the internet!" Charlene cries louder, sobbing into her phone. 

"Charlene! Listen to me very carefully...I'm gonna need you to send me the link so I can destroy it before it gets into more hands...you need to hurry, this is time sensitive!" you yell as you scramble for your laptop in the living room. 

"I-I already sent it..please hurry, I don't want his image to be tainted. My parents think I'm dating the squeaky cleanest guy alive, I don't want them to think I'm dating some asshole...oh, God.. OH MY GOD! MY PARENTS!!!" Charlene hangs up. 

You quickly upload the video to your laptop and get into contact with a guy you know that hacks into websites. You ask him to delete all versions of this sex tape from as many websites as he can. After an hour or so, your guy texts and tells you he's taken care of it. You sigh with relief then...curiousity hits you. 

You sit Indian style on your bed with the laptop on your lap and play Lance Tucker's and Hope Ann Gregory's sex tape. The video comes up: dark and grainy. The side table lamps by the King size mattress are on, then you hear a noise off camera. Something slamming into something. Then you see them come into frame. A naked Hope tumbles across the screen and onto the floor and Lance enters the shot. He wipes off his white polo shirt and pulls down his windbreaker pants and briefs revealing a red and blue ribbon tattoo on his lower abdomen attaching to his pubic mound and long hard dick. 

The walls of your vagina tighten when you see him in all his muscular glory. You continue to watch in awe of Lance cartwheeling over to Hope, using her ass as a pommel horse before slapping her ass and thrusting into her a few times before stopping. Your mouth opens slowly, your heart racing watching these to graceful athletes try to one up each other in their gymnist moves and flips and their odd (yet arousing) sexual positions. Listening to the slapping of skin, the moans and grunts and breathing of this beautiful man is taking your breath away. But it's when Lance takes Hope from behind, slamming his big dick into her is when you found your fingers absentmindedly in your pants, rubbing your swollen clit. You throw your head back as you reach your orgasm, letting out a long moan at the same time as Lance on the video. You coming together....technically. You let your head fall back onto the headboard as you gather your wits about you after that intense finger work out when your phone rings.

You reach over with your other hand, out of breath, "Hello?"

"Did you see my video?" Lance asks, you can hear him smiling on the other end.


	4. House Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when you thought you did damage control, Lance does something incredibly stupid to make you prove your worth. You prove your worth and so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been away for so long my dearies. I needed to take a break to deal with some life stuffs but now I'm back! And I've got a list of stuff to write for you all!   
> Thank you for all the love and support and concern I've received. You readers certainly know how to make a gal feel loved. =) 
> 
> (Special thanks to DEATHBYUKMEN for her loving sense of humor and wonderfully beautiful comments on all my stories!!! Love ya Jules!

You jump off your bed and onto your feet, surprised, as if he knew what you were doing. With the phone clutched in your hand, you holler, "What the fuck is your problem, Tucker?! What in God's name were you thinking filming yourself having sex with a fellow Olympian without her consent? She could sue your ass then you'd be fucked!" 

"Oh, she won't file a lawsuit...I've got her dead to rights. I filmed her snorting coke in the gym locker room shortly after shoplifting some dozen or so hair scrunchies for some weird reason. That chick ain't got nothing on me.." he arrogantly replies. 

You let out a long, labored sigh, "I tried to wipe as many links of that video off the internet as I could so hopefully your stupidity doesn't see the light of day."

Lance erupts in obnoxious laughter. 

"What's so God damned funny?" you ask about to blow a gasket. 

"Weeeeell, I might have accidentally sent the video to TMZ..." 

"YOU STUPID SON OF A B-" 

Lance interrupts you with a stern warning, "And if TMZ even so much publishes a screen cap of my sex tape with Gregory, it's your ass I'm taking to court." 

"Wait - WHAT? You're the asshole who sent the video to them in the first place!" you cry out. 

"I sure did, [Y/N]. Now prove to me that you're the best PR person in Hollywood. DO YOUR FUCKING JOB!" he hangs up before you can retaliate. 

You stand in the middle of your bedroom staring off into space, contemplating your next step. "I gotta get that video.." you throw on a jogging suit and sneakers, hop in your car and drive down to the offices of TMZ before it's too late. 

****  
After sitting down with the creator of TMZ, Harvey Levin, for over two hours, you both reached an agreement not to show the video. They deleted the video from their computers and you promised to let them be the first to any (non-sexual) future Lance Tucker gossip. You hop back in your car and hold onto the steering wheel staring through the windshield deep in thought. Your eyebrows narrow as you pull the car out of park and speed toward Lance Tucker's house a half hour away. 

****

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG 

You pound on his cherrywood door, "I know you're in there Lance! Open the fucking door before I wake up the whole neighborhood!" 

A moment later, the door opens and Lance appears dressed in a white tank top and grey drawstring pants hanging at his hips, his gold medal ribbon tattoo peeking out. He folds his bulky arms over his thick chest with a smirk, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Wide Load?" 

You push passed him to enter his lavish mini mansion and blow pass all the expensive looking decor, stopping in his large livingroom with a large fireplace. To your surprise, there is a scantily clad blonde woman sitting on the leather couch with a martini glass in her hand, confused as fuck at your ragged appearance in a jogging suit. 

She groans, "Lance, I told you I will only have a three way with a chick who is a size 8 and under! Gross." 

You puff out your chest and scream at the top of your lungs, "YOU BETTER GET THE FUCK OUT BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE, YOU FILTHY GERM-INFESTED WHORE!" 

The blonde woman jumps off the couch in her 5 inch heels and tries to run as fast she can passed you and a laughing Lance. 

You turn to look at him, enraged, "You're having a fucking field day, aren't you, Lance?"

"Oh, this is the most fun I've had since that hooker sucked me off an hour ago..." 

"You, sir, are the most disgusting, pathetic piece of shit I have ever met in my entire life. You have not changed one bit since high school. You're deplorable. You are a sad excuse for a human being and you deserve to be sterilized so that you do not procreate more versions of you in the future. I hate you ....and I quit." You turn to walk away when he calls after you, self-assured. 

"You can't quit, sweets. That's a breach of contract and that would mean I take YOU to court. And once I take you to court, I'll take everything you own: every piece of paper, every cheap piece of clothing you own, all your pathetic memories will be mine. And, worst of all for you, you'll starve. Well, I guess it's not all bad. You'd finally be able to lose the weight..." he chuckles. 

You calmly turn around to face him and slowly walk towards him. Your eery calm is beginning to make Lance feel uneasy as he backs up a bit. As you walk towards him, you pull off your sweat shirt revealing your busty pink lace bra and hourglass waist. You continue to walk toward him, kicking off your Nikes and pulling down your sweat pants to show your black lace boyshorts barely covering the cheeks of your ass. By the time you reach Lance, you stand before him in your underwear, in all your half naked glory, locking your eyes on his confused face. 

Your voice is low and sultry, almost not yours as you say in a calm tone, "I may not be under a size 8, but I'm full and curvy in all the right places and I have yet to have a complaint about it." You press your breasts into his heaving chest, "And you know what they say about a woman with a nice big booty....'more cushion for the pushin'...." you turn your back toward him and jut your ass out into his package, sliding your body ever so slightly up and down against it, "and from what I saw in your video, you reeeeally like to fuck a girl from behind..." 

Lance swallows hard as he raises his hands to touch your arms when you spin around and slap him in the face, surprising him.

"Nah-uh...you don't get to touch this. You shouldn't even get to SEE this.." you present your half naked self to him. You begin to walk away to grab your clothes when you stop where you are and turn back around. "No...no, on second thought, you should see this..." you back Lance up a few steps until he trips and stumbles backward onto his leather couch by the fireplace. His eyes still locked onto your face, still filled with confusion but with a glint of lust. 

You stand before him, owning your beauty with all the confidence you never knew you had before. "I want you to see what you missed out on in high school. While you were frenching boney chicks in the locker room and getting handjobs by skeezy girls under the bleachers, you missed out on my luscious ass." You turn around and bend over slightly, making the boyshorts ride up your crack, exposing more cheeks. 

Lance shifts in his seat, his knees wide apart, hands gripping his thighs as to not touch you. Facing him again, you look down at his lap to see the front of his drawstring pants tented from his towering erection. A smile curls up on one end of your lips as your hands start to smooth over your bare stomach and up over your big round breasts. You close your eyes and think about all those times you were in high school and wished Lance - or any guy, for that matter - would appreciate your curvy body like most men do now. You bite your lower lip and giggle softly to yourself as you can feel your clit pulsating in your panties. 

You lower yourself onto your knees between Lance's open knees and place your hands on each of his thighs, "I always wanted to know what it was like to suck you off when we were in school together...I always wanted to see just how big you got if I wrapped my lips around your hard dick..."

Lance's jaw tightens then relaxes enough to lick his lips and breathe out a word, "Yeah?" 

You nod your head with a mischievious smile, "Mm-hmm. But now I've seen your video and see just how gifted you truly are...I may not have been able to fit you all in my mouth back in high school, but I surely can today. I can deep throat a banana like you wouldn't believe..." Lance lets out a small moan as you slowly climb onto his lap and hover just above his erection, not wanting to touch it. 

You continue your seductress assault on Lance as you hover above his body, his head leaning back on the leather couch to look up at you with pathetic eyes. "I've dreamt about you fucking me in the locker rooms like so many girls you've had." 

"Oh, really?" he tries to hold in his excitement. 

"Mmm.." you grab his veiny hands and place them on each breast, "Mmmm....squeeze them..." 

He promptly does what you tell him and you throw your head back with pleasure, "You like the way my tits feel?"

Lance face hardens (as does his dick), "God, yes." 

You then take them off your breasts and place them on your ass cheeks, slapping them on. Lance jolts up and hisses, "Yesssssss...fuck.." 

You lower your head and flick your tongue on the tip of his nose, "Do you wanna fuck me, Lance?" 

"YES! God, yes!" Lance sits up to meet his lips onto your cleavage when you climb off his lap and walk to get your clothes from the floor. 

"Sorry, Lance. You missed your chance....- HEY! I made a rhyme! Later, loser," you grab your pants. 

Lance jumps up from the couch, his face red, "What the fuck, [Y/N]?!" 

"Oh, did you think I was going to sleep with you?" you ask, nonchalantly. 

"Uh, YEAH! DUH! Look at my dick! He's waiting!" he points down to his obvious hard on. 

"This feeling of sexual frustration and rage is what you made me feel like all those years. And now that I've convinced you that girls with meat on their bones are just as sexy, now you want me?" 

"Yes...." 

You drop your bunched up clothes in a pile next to you with a shit eating grin, "Then beg me." 

He raises a brow, "Excuse me?"

"Beg me for sex, Lance...Get on your knees and beg me for my body. Only then will I allow you to fuck me..." you fold your arms under your boobs only making them plump up more which was only too stimulating for Lance who immediately drops to his knees and begins begging. 

"Please, [Y/N]. I beg of you...I...I want you..." he is now a blubbering horny mess on the floor. 

"You want me to what?" you ask all too pleased with yourself. 

"I-I want to feel your titties again....I need to feel your pussy on my face. I want to shove my dick so far in your ass, it comes out of your mouth..." his voice gets deep and dark toward the end. 

Aroused and not being able to contain yourself, you gesture for him to stand up. He jumps to his feet and stands in front of you, waiting to be told what to do like a a good little puppy.

"Are you going to listen to what I want?" you ask with an arched brow. 

Lance vigorously shakes his head. 

"Will you do everything I say from now on?" 

He agrees again. 

"Both inside the bedroom and out in the public?" 

"Yes."

"Do you promise to be a good little Lance and stop making my job harder?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, [Y/N]! YES!" 

"How badly do you want this pussy?" you purr in his ear, your hands taking their time to untie his drawstring pants, letting them fall to his ankles. 

Lance bites his lower lip and closes his eyes, "Very bad..." his hand reaches for your crotch when you grab his wrist and bring his hand to your mouth. You take his index and middle fingers into your mouth and suck lightly as he watches with clenched jaw. 

You moan with his fingers in your mouth and pull it out with a pop sound then bring it to your soaked panties, "Now you may touch me.." 

With you granting access to your body, Lance shoves his two fingers passed your boyshorts and into your drenched hole. You let out a surprised scream as your hands clutch onto his shoulders. His fingers move in and out while his thumb makes circles on your swollen clit. 

Lance breathes heavily into your ear as he pumps his fingers, "You like that, [Y/N]? Huh?....." he shuts his eyes to enjoy the feel of you on his hand, "...God, sugar tits....you're so fuckin' wet. You're primed for my big hard cock, aren't you?" 

Your eyes meet his dark narrowed ones as a sinister grin crosses over his lips, "I've got an idea.." 

He pulls his hand from out of you and quickly runs into the next room and comes back with a full body mirror, placing it by the fire place. He pulls off his tank top and snatches you toward his lean muscular naked body in front of the mirror. 

Your face turns a shade of red when you realize he wants to screw in front of a mirror and you are forced to watch yourself. 

You begin to get nervous and the confident bad ass bitch that you channeled was quickly turning back into the insecure little girl from high school. 

"Stand in front of me," Lance tells you as he kicks your feet apart, getting ready to position himself behind you. 

"Wait - " you begin to protest when Lance says the first (decent and slightly appropriate) compliment you've ever received from him or any other man before. 

"I want to do you in front of the mirror so I can see your sexy body jiggle in all the right places as I fuck your pussy from behind.." 

You are immediately turned back into the sexy confident badass chick again as Lance grabs your hips from behind, positions himself at your entrance and thrusts up into you. You gasp at first thrust then moan uncontrollably at each powerful thrust Lance gives you. 

Lance watches your tits jiggle and shake with each quick thrust and speeds up when he locks eyes with you in the mirror's reflection. 

"FUCK! I'm gonna cum.....shit....aaaaah.....yes yes yes yes yessssss...." Lance mutters and pants. 

"Oh God.....oh God....fuck...I-I .....I'm cominnnng!...UH...Yes! BLAINE! AAAAAAAAH! BLAAAAAINE!" you scream with passion as your knees wobble with his continued pounding. 

Lance didn't even care, he just kept pounding into you, "YOU LIKE THAT BITCH?! YOU LIKE WHEN BLAINE FUCKS YOU LIKE THIS, [Y/N]? UNPH....SHIIIIIIT!" Lance quickly pulls out and cums on your lower back, whimpering like a small puppy doing so. 

You drop to the floor on your bottom and lay on your side, exasperated. Lance collapses beside you and lays on his back, sweat glistening only to further define his already gorgeous physique. 

You breathe out with a smirk, "I appreciate you pulling out.." 

Lance cocks a brow with a smirk of his own, "Well, you did say I shouldn't procreate." 

You both share a small laugh together then silence. 

"Did you honestly swear to me that you were going to stop being a dick forever?" you ask staring up at the ceiling. 

Lance puckers his lips staring at the same ceiling, "I did." 

You pause for a moment, "Was my pussy really that good?" 

A satisfied smile comes over Lance's face, "It was." 

Lance rolls over to you, practically pouncing on you, kissing your neck already primed for Round Two.


End file.
